wil she live?”
“She’l find her way. It’l work out. Give her credit,” Adam said.
Peter shoved Adam against the wal, knocking stacks of metal pans to the floor, creating a deafening clatter. “Yeah, I’m sure most sixteen-year-old girls alone on the streets do realy wel.
Images of rapists and kidnappers filed his mind. He tried to shake the thoughts away.
He released Adam, his hands trembling. Shock shown on Adam’s face. It isn’t like she’l go back to Rockvile. I sure wouldn’t. I know her better than that. They screwed her over.”
“Maybe she’l find you. Maybe she’l be at a show one day.” His mother offered.
“Right, she’l just stand up in her seat and cal my name to let me know she’s there. Or maybe she’l just walk up to the bus and knock on the door. Explain to me how this is going to work.” He faced his mother; sadness filed his eyes.
Cheers sounded from the next room. Their manager popped in. “You got it! You got nominated for album of the year! Can you believe it?! Get in here!”
They looked each other, the contrast of their lives and Libby’s glaringly obvious.
# # #
Libby walked alone, her muscles sore from sitting on a bus too many hours. She liked the bus though. Once onboard, she disappeared in the back unseen. By the time she got off, several states later, a new driver sat up front.
This town was ‘middle of nowhere Georgia’, as Peter would say. More than anything she longed to talk to him, but knew those days were long gone.
As she wandered the streets of the smal, town of Pebble Creek, she wished for an easy solution to her problems. But it was far too late for easy. Her mother used to say, ‘life can be an uphil battle, so you better keep your head down and keep climbing.’
Who knew how true those words would prove to be. She thought about her mom a lot on the bus and the drastic changes in her life the past two years. It started as a happy, normal family then fel into tragedy -- a broken family and delinquent runaway. She realized she’d accepted her mother and sister’s death. The months of debilitating grief were past. Now the loss had become a part of who she was, it no longer defined her. In fact, she believed they watched her from the heavens with love.
Her stomach grumbled and interrupted her thoughts. With money running low, she needed to settle for a bit. She scanned each store front in hopes of finding a “help wanted” sign. At this point, she’d be wiling to do just about anything to make some money.
Anything, but go back to Rockvile or the group home.
By the time she reached the edge of town, disappointment weighed on her shoulders like a heavy cloak. The last building before the road turned into the countryside was a battered motel caled The Twilight. A vacancy sign blinked on and off, except for the broken last three letters. Scraggly weeds beat down the grass in sporadic patches around the perimeter. The motel could lead the list of tacky places to stay, but a real bed and a shower tempted her enough to approach.
The screen door squeaked as she entered a rundown office, a television blared cartoons from a backroom.
Libby stood in the middle of the smal lobby, afraid to be noticed, but desperate to know if she could afford one night. A woman’s voice yeled in the background. “Damien, stop poking your brother.” The woman walked past the open doorway, looking up in time to see Libby.
“Hang on, hun, I’l be right with ya,” her voice sounded harried.
The woman returned with a baby on her hip. “Okay, can I help you?” She eyed Libby. “Wel?”
“I’m sorry, I was just wondering how much for a room?”
“Single or double?”
“Um, just a single.”
“Forty-five bucks. Cash or credit card, no checks.” Libby mentaly recounted her money. The toddler started to smel.
“I ain’t got al day. Do you want it or not?”
“Yeah, I do.” She stepped up to the scratched counter and dug in her pocket for cash.
“Sign in here.” The woman pushed a smal card at her requesting her name and address.
Libby stared at the card, then, trying not to look nervous, grabbed the pen and signed the name Jil Munroe. It was the first name that popped into her head. Her mother always loved the television show Charlie’s Angels. Jil Munroe was her favorite character, a beautiful, confident cop.